


one foot after the other

by scheherazade



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, world cup 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 15:24:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: "You're worse than Toni. Even he's not so antisocial as to leave the building altogether just to avoid talking to people.""He doesn't have you following him around."





	one foot after the other

**Author's Note:**

> taking out my football frustrations via fic, as usual. i love and hate everyone on the team. they are all to blame. except marco reus. marco deserves better. marco deserves fic tbh but unfortunately i am what i am, and what i am is trash. so you get this instead.

Outside, he sees Thomas sitting with the bags and Miro standing three feet away.

Inside, Manu had stormed off rather than get into another shouting match with Hummels. That should have been Jerome's cue to come collect Hummels. Except Jerome had already left with Miro and Loew and the rest of the coaching staff.

Except apparently not, since Miro is right there, staring at the bay where the bus will come pick them up while Thomas doesn't look at him.

He ducks around the corner. It's hot out. The vents spewing stale air from the building make it worse. The rest of the team are probably waiting in the hallway where there's air conditioning. Toni will be there, leaning against the wall and headphones over his ears. The younger kids will be giving him a wide berth. Not because Toni will snap at them, the way Hummels and Manu do sometimes. Toni never says anything. He doesn't have to, when displeasure is radiating off him in waves.

He wonders where Ilkay's gone.

His phone buzzes. Speak of the devil. 

_Hey where are you? Marco said dressing room was empty when he went to go look._

He writes back, _why's marco looking for me?_

 _He's not, I just asked him to check._ A pause. Then, _You okay?_

He's fine, and it hasn't been okay for months. He can't go anywhere, turn on a TV or pick up a newspaper without being bombarded by people who want something from him. More speed, more work, more positive attitude. More grit, more leadership, more more more. It's never enough. Even when he gives everything they asked. Even when he's past his limit and can't hide his frustration. And that's not good enough either, because they also don't like seeing just how much it costs.

Days like this, he understands why Manu storms off and Toni clams up. If they're not going to listen anyway, why bother?

He doesn't really bother. He doesn't read newspapers. And he doesn't like the TV channels in Russia. It just sucks when even friends have stopped telling him, _Fuck the noise and fuck them all; we're still in your corner, always will be._

He writes back to Ilkay, 

_yeah i'm fine just waiting outside_

_Heads up, I ihink Miro was headed that way_ , comes the immediate response. _Don't let him catch you._

He's not stupid enough to go sneaking a cigarette while everyone's still here. It's insulting that Ilkay seems to think so.

_i quit, it's fine_

Ilkay sends him a surprised face emoji, followed by a thumbs up. Dork.

"You know there's air conditioning inside, right?"

Sami is wearing all black even though it's disgustingly hot. Ilkay once theorized it's because Sami is secretly fashion challenged and doesn't actually know how to coordinate colors, so he only ever wears one outfit. Like Ilkay can talk. 

"You're worse than Toni," Sami says next. "Even he's not so antisocial as to leave the building altogether just to avoid talking to people."

"He doesn't have you following him around."

Sami cracks a smile, as if to say, _There it is. I knew you were still in there somewhere._ Which is stupid. People walking away from him isn't the same as him leaving. Mesut isn't the one who's changed.

Sami says, "Ilkay's looking for you."

"Did he send you after me, too?"

"Who else did he send?"

"Marco."

"Marco?" Sami's eyebrows go up, then down. "Don't think so. Last I saw, he was sitting in a corner calling his girlfriend."

"He doesn't talk to his girlfriend after losses."

"Maybe he was calling his parents."

"You can tell Ilkay to lay off," Mesut says. "I'm fine."

Sami goes quiet for a sec.

"He worries because that's how he deals with shit. It's just how he is. Anyway, he didn't actually send me after you. First of all, why the hell would I listen to Ilkay. Second of all, aren't I your friend, too?"

And Mesut doesn't know what to say to that.

Sami sighs. "Come wait inside. It's gross out here."

"I said I'm _fine_." It's pissing him off, and he's tired of feeling like this all this time. "You go back inside if you can't deal with the heat."

"Oh come on, don't be like that."

"Like what?" 

"Mes, come on—"

"No, like what! Where the hell do _you_ get off—"

"For god's sake, keep your voice down! Nobody's getting on your case. About anything! Okay?" Against his own advice, Sami's voice rises. "Honestly, what's gotten into you lately? Stop acting like we're all out to get you. Because we're not. We never have. It's bad enough we have to deal with all the stupid politics and Hummels' attitude—and now you?"

"Go tell Loew, then." The tight feeling in his chest won't go away. "Go tell him I have an attitude problem. Half of them have been saying it for years. But now that _you're_ on board, too—"

"The fuck, Mes! I am on _your side_."

"Are you?!"

" _Always_ ," says Sami, like he doesn't have to think about it at all. Like he thinks about it all the time, and there's only ever been one answer.

A long time ago, Mesut thought it was weird that Sami liked him so much. Ten years later, he wonders when he forgot that Sami always has.

"What do you want me to say, huh?" His voice has gone quiet now. "I'm sorry, though I don't know what the fuck you want me to apologize for. But I'm sorry, whatever it is that's got you mad at me."

He always used to do that, too: checking himself after a burst of anger. It never lasts longer than a second or two. Sami likes to joke he has to be careful, he's hot-blooded thanks to his ancestry. Mesut knows it's because he's actually a bit of a pushover.

It's obvious, when he's out here asking forgiveness for something that's not his fault.

"Shut the hell up," Mesut tells him. "Who says I'm mad at you?"

"Kind of seems like you are."

"I'm mad at everyone. I'm mad at Ilkay for fussing at me. I'm mad at Loew for throwing me under the bus." Mostly, he's mad at himself. "I'm mad at you for getting yourself subbed off early two games in a row."

Sami makes a huffing sound. "So you are mad at me."

"Not really," says Mesut. "It's not your fault you're bad at football." 

Sami actually laughs this time. "Thanks."

Mesut leans against the wall, and Sami lets it go. There's just the hum of the vents and footsteps somewhere nearby, getting farther. Maybe Miro went back inside. 

Dry heat rises off asphalt and concrete. It almost feels like someplace else. Sami used to do this, too, in Madrid, back when Mesut barely understood two words of Spanish and nobody else had yet learned how to read him. He's forgotten most of what Spanish he picked up, and nobody has ever read him as well as Sami does. It should be unnerving, that he can still do this, when it's been years and now Mesut can't even count on finding Sami's name next to his on the roster. 

"This is it, isn't it," he says. 

"What is?"

 _Our last tournament._ "Your last hurrah for Germany."

"Shut up." Sami doesn't sound offended. If anything, he sounds amused. "We all know Loew needs at least one person who can string a whole sentence together on press days."

"Hummels is a good talker."

"Hummels talks a lot of shit."

Mesut laughs, surprises himself. From the corner of his eye, he can see Sami smiling. That same look as before: _There it is._

And yeah, Mesut isn't the only one who hasn't changed.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes. Ilkay texting him again: _Hey are you still outside? Come back in by the back hallway. We're meeting._

Sami looks at his own phone. "We should probably head back in. Manu wants to talk to the whole team."

"Yeah, I just got a text from Ilkay." Who knows where he is, so he can't even hide.

"You weren't joking about him fussing, were you?"

"It's just how he is."

Sami snorts at his own line being thrown back at him. "Yeah, so cut him some slack." He reaches into his pocket for something and tosses it at him. "Here, catch."

Mesut catches the box with both hands. His brain reacts a second later.

"Where'd you get this?"

"Bummed it off a security guard."

"You bummed a whole pack of cigarettes off a Russian security guard?"

"He might have been Ukrainian."

Unlikely. The brand is the one Mesut prefers. 

"I told Ilkay I quit."

"Really? You shouldn't lie to your friends." Sami is grinning. 

"Shut up." Mesut pockets the pack. "Did you bum a lighter off the security guard, too?"

"I have matches in my bag."

"Why the hell do you have matches in your bag?"

"Because," Sami says, "unlike Ilkay, I don't believe a word you say."

Mesut socks him in the arm, and Sami laughs—and it doesn't change the fact that everything's changing and there's no going back, but it does loosen the tight feeling in his chest. And that's still the same as ever: moving forward is just putting down one foot after the other and on and on and on.

They head back inside. Sami holds the door for him. The air conditioning cuts clean through the afternoon heat.

Ilkay is loitering in the hallway. He puts away his phone when he sees them.

"Hey." He sounds more relieved than casual. "I was just gonna come get you."

"We're here," Sami says. "Are we late?"

"No, you're good." Ilkay glances at Mesut. _Right?_

Mesut looks down the corridor. He can hear the murmur of voices, teammates gathered. Sami at his side and Ilkay a step behind. When he sticks his hands in his pockets, he can feel the rounded edges of his phone, the sharp edges of a box.

And it's not good, exactly, that Sami knows all his bad habits. But it's something. Maybe enough.

"We're good," Mesut says to their unspoken question. "Let's go."


End file.
